What Is a Djinn?

We bought this Quranic teaching tablet depicting what we imagine is a djinni from Ensemble Artisinal, an artists' co-op, in Marrakesh for about $35.

Djinns, jinn, genies: Why we believe in these creatures from Arabic folklore.

I’m not typically someone who believes in the supernatural. I want to believe in ghosts, angels and the like. I just don’t think the evidence is there.

That being said, after our trip to Morocco, I do believe in djinn (also known as jinn or genies — djinni, jinni, genie in the singular). These magical creatures, created by Allah from “smokeless fire,” are talented shapeshifters, like Robin Williams’ genie in Aladdin. Supposedly some djinn are good — but most tend to be tricksters if not downright devious. They even get some shoutouts in the Quran.

“I ignored him and kept jabbing the blade into the ground.”

I learned about the prevalence of belief in djinn in present-day Morocco in Tahir Shah's excellent book, The Caliph's House, about renovating a house in Casablanca (inevitably drawing connections to that other famous tome — “It’s A Year in Provence for Morocco!”). The triad of servants who tremble in fear at the property’s local djinni are quite hilarious.

But we learned the hard way that there’s nothing funny about djinn.

The Cursèd Dagger

Sure, we joke about it now. But at the time, we were fully convinced there was a djinni responsible for the bizarre situation that took place as we tried to leave the country.

It was the first thing we purchased in the Marrakech souk, and I was quite excited about the find: a ceremonial dagger with a hilt made from the bone of a camel.

When it came time to pack up for our trip home, Duke held up the dagger in our room in the riad and said, “We’ll have to make sure this goes into the checked luggage.” Which is exactly where he put it.

The next morning at the airport, after we had checked our bags and were going through the X-ray machines, the attendant asked us to open our bag. Sitting right there on top was…the dagger.

We were told we could just go back and put the dagger into our checked luggage. Having seen the suitcase pass into the depths of the airport on a conveyor belt, I was skeptical.

“Let’s just prep another bag to check,” I told Duke. And of course we put the dagger in that bag (both Duke and I distinctly remember doing so), then waited in line back at check-in.

We found out it would cost us $75 or so to check another bag, so we decided to forgo that. Back in the room with the X-ray machines, I opened the bag…but couldn’t find the dagger anywhere inside.

Finally, in desperation, I opened our carry-on. Sure enough, right on top, sat the dagger. I could almost imagine a devious smile upon its surface.

And then, something came over me. I grabbed the dagger and started stabbing the floor.

“What are you doing?!” Duke shouted, horrified.

I ignored him and kept jabbing the blade into the ground.

“Wally! Stop it!” Duke implored.

“I just want the blade to break so I can at least keep the handle,” I explained, continuing my frenzy.

“You’ve got a knife out in a crowded airport!” Duke pointed out sensibly. “Do you want to get arrested?”

And then the spell broke. My head cleared, and I looked down at the dagger clutched in my hand.

“Oh my God,” I said, shuddering. “Let’s get rid of this.”

I marched over to a trashcan and tossed the cursèd thing inside.

“There was a djinni in there!” I whispered. “It didn’t want the blade to leave Morocco.”

Duke, wide-eyed and relieved, nodded in agreement.

So, no, we don’t believe in ghosts. But we do believe in djinn. –Wally

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How to Protect Yourself From Jinn and Black Magic

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8 Tips to Get the Best Deals at a Moroccan Souk

The souk in Marrakesh, Morocco is just off of the large square in the media, Jemaa el-Fnaa.

Bargaining and haggling are a time-honored tradition when shopping at markets. Just make sure you don’t get taken advantage of.

Duke and I are unabashed consumers. When we’re on vacation, we’ll hit the markets once or even twice a day if possible. So let’s just say we’ve had plenty of practice bargaining for the best price. I also play hardball (our guide on our trip to the Sahara, Barack, saw me in action and was so impressed, he dubbed me an honorary Berber).

Haggling for everything you buy (food aside) can be exhausting. But it’s part of the culture in Morocco, and vendors look forward to a lively contest of wills. Follow these steps, and chances are you’ll get a good deal when shopping the souks.

“Our guide saw me in action and was so impressed, he dubbed me an honorary Berber.”

1. Scope out the sitch. 

Start out with a reconnaissance mission. When you see something you’re interested in, ask how much it is, as casually as possible. Then make a mental note and move on. Quickly. 

You’ll often see similar items at other stalls, so it’s good to have perspective, to see if you’re getting ripped off.

That being said, if you see something you really want, snag it. You never know if you’ll find it again. Souks are labyrinthine, and there’s no guarantee you can retrace your steps another day. 

2. Speak French if you know it. 

Most vendors speak French as well as an impressive amount of English and phrases from Spanish and other languages. I’m not sure that all vendors assume Americans are rich and charge more — but it sure seemed that way. I definitely scored better deals when they couldn’t quite pin down my nationality. 

And don’t worry about being fluent in French. Remember, it’s their second language, too, so you can meet in the middle, skill-wise.

3. Be aggressive if need be. 

It’s not uncommon to be inside a narrow stall, looking around and then, when you turn to leave, find the merchant blocking your path. He might have something he’s shoving in your face, trying to excite your interest.

I found that there were times when I literally had to grab a vendor's shoulder and push him out of the way in order to leave.

Note that we traveled with our friend Vanessa, who said the men didn’t accost her in this way. So it might (hopefully) just be a “guy thing.”

4. Shop on Friday — despite what you’ve been told. 

Everyone told us the souk would be closed on Friday, that everyone’s at the mosque. Well, Duke and I couldn’t resist just seeing if anyone was open — and sure enough, in the Marrakech souk, we found that about a quarter of the stalls weren't closed. Instead of the usual hustle and bustle, the passageways were relatively quiet, and we scored some great deals, as shopkeeps knew business would be slow.

5. Use this formula. 

OK, let’s get down to the nitty gritty. How much should you pay? Here’s what I do: Think about what you’d pay at a store back home. Then divide that in half. You won’t be ripping anyone off, and you’ll be getting a great deal — which you deserve by eliminating the middleman. 

On our last day in Marrakech, we found a fertility doll from Cameroon, covered in beads and horn and metal bangles, that we simply had to have. It wouldn’t surprise me to a see a museum-quality handicraft from Africa like this for $70 back in the States. (Indeed, a Google search revealed prices upwards of $100.) So I divided $70 in two, and decided I’d like to end up at $35. 

6. Ignore their opening bid. 

In most places I’ve been, the shopkeeps start with a reasonable offer and you can end up with a decent price by meeting in the middle. Not so in Morocco. They’ll try to get as much out of you as possible. So don’t even listen to the first number they throw out there.

With the fertility doll, the young man started at $200. By this point, I knew better than to even pay attention. I countered with $20. Yes, that seems ridiculous, right? But if they’re being ridiculous, you can be ridiculous right back.

7. Give yourself some wiggle room. 

After you’ve figured out what you want to pay, go a bit lower. After all, you need to come up a bit, act as if you’re conceding, unable to escape the vendor’s wiliness. He wants to feel as if he’s won on some level. 

Our fertility doll vendor offered the equivalent of $45 and wouldn’t budge. 

8. Walk away. 

This is an especially successful tactic in Morocco. (Not so much in India, btw, where we said goodbye to many an item.) Even though we were just above what I wanted to pay for the doll, I shook my head and dragged a reluctant Duke away. 

“We could pay $45!” he pleaded. 

But I can be merciless. “We’ll go halfway down the block,” I told him. “And if he doesn’t chase after us, we’ll go back and get it for $45.”

We had gotten only 20 feet away before the young man chased after us, grabbing my arm. 

“What’s your final offer?”

I pretended to think about it. “We really don’t need it… $35 is my final offer.”

“OK. OK,” he caved. “You’re getting great deal.”

Yes. Yes, I was. –Wally

Travel to Marrakech, Morocco

The modern façade of the Marrakech Menara Airport casts gorgeous lace-like shadows

Long flights on cheap airlines can be a "plane" in the ass — but the excitement you feel upon arrival makes it all worth while.

Our overnight flight from Chicago to Madrid, Spain wasn't terribly long. But like our previous trip on Air Iberia, it was a sleepless one.

This time, however, the woman hopped up on medication who spoke loud enough for the entire cabin to hear her was replaced by a group of boisterous, flash photo-snapping Spanish nuns.

“I couldn’t believe it — we were in Africa!”

One of the nuns had a confounding method of sleeping: She knelt on the floor facing her seat, a pillow set beneath her knees with her face pushed into the bottom of the seat.

Every now and then I glanced over a few aisles ahead, where our friend Vanessa was sitting. The guy sitting next to her was watching a strange soft-core porn movie on his laptop.

The layover in Barcelona was five hours, but our connecting gate to Marrakech was revealed a mere 30 minutes prior to departure. We were informed that our gate had been moved to the opposite end of the terminal. We ran from one end of the terminal to the other — only to be told our plane was actually leaving from where we had just come.

Once aboard, Wally, Vanessa and I collapsed in exhaustion into a brief bit of fitful sleep.

We awoke to a coy wee German boy named Otto, who was playing a game of peekaboo with us. He held a deflated white balloon, which he would dangle in front of us while we feigned being unable to catch it.

Eventually Wally grew bored with this ruse and caught hold of the balloon, and as it snapped back, Otto squealed excitedly, “Nein! Nein! Nein!”

Bienvenue à Morocco!

When we arrived at the Marrakech airport and exited the plane, a warm breeze washed over us. We were surrounded by clear blue skies and sun. I couldn’t believe it — we were in Africa! (Even if it was the most northwesterly part of Africa.)

We entered the faded pink stucco terminal from the tarmac. Inside, the ceiling was low and contained columns covered with beautiful zellij, brightly colored tiles with intricate geometric patterns.

We filled out our immigration forms and waited in line to have our passports approved and stamped.

A brief walk brought us into the modern expansion to the airport, where the terminal expands into a brilliant white canopy that soars overhead. The tendrils of arabesque-etched panels pierce the ceiling, casting a mix of light and shadow across the floor.

We could feel the excitement in the air as we picked up our bags and were met by our driver.

Moments later we were passing the ancient sun-baked ramparts of the medina — the original walled city, en route to our Moroccan adventure. –Duke